


Feeling Thin

by withdiamonds



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-04-08
Updated: 2001-04-08
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:01:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/withdiamonds/pseuds/withdiamonds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A somewhat lighthearted look at how Jim copes while Blair is at the police academy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feeling Thin

**Author's Note:**

> All the times I've given in  
> You fit me like a second skin.  
> One by one I will begin  
> To wear you on the days I'm feeling thin.
> 
> ~~Matchbox 20~~ "Stop"

Jim took one step off the elevator, then stopped dead in his tracks. Sandburg was here.

The traitor.

Jim was reminded of a class suck-up, running to the teacher so he could tattle. "Teacher, teacher, Jimmy doesn't know what he's doing without me!"

As Jim approached his desk, feigning nonchalance, he zeroed in on the conversation taking place in Simon's office. He heard Blair say, "I just don't think it's a good idea, Simon." Jim zoomed his sight into the room, right on his partner's traitorous countenance. Sandburg stopped pacing in front of the desk and looked at Simon. "What if something...weird happens?"

Jim could practically hear Simon roll his eyes. "Gee, Sandburg. What are the odds?"

Blair turned away with an impatient jerk of his shoulders. "Simon, you know what I mean." He moved over to the windows facing outside. "He's just not used to being on his own with this anymore. It's been too long."

Jim couldn't believe Sandburg was talking about him like he was some five-year old who couldn't be trusted to get on the right school bus if his nanny wasn't there to watch him.

"For what it's worth, Sandburg, you may be right." Jim eyed Simon with disfavor. He watched him turn and refill his coffee cup. "More caffeine?" Simon actually spoke without sarcasm as he gestured at Sandburg with the coffeepot.

"No, thanks. Had my max already this morning. I may even be over my limit, man. I feel twitchy." Ha, Jim thought. That's guilt, that's what that is. It's what happens when you go behind your partner's back to the boss. Blair sank down onto one of the chairs standing guard around Simon's conference table and sighed. "Why does he have to be so stubborn, Simon?"

Stubborn? What the hell did Blair mean by stubborn? Jim didn't like to think of himself as stubborn. Steadfast, maybe. Resolute, constant, dependable, persevering. But not stubborn.

"Because he's Jim," Simon explained, in his best "duh, Sandburg" voice. Now it was Blair's turn to roll his eyes. "Sandburg, he thinks he's an old pro at this Sentinel thing, thinks he can make do without you for awhile." Simon paused. "And maybe he's right."

Fucking-A, sir. At least _Simon_ had some confidence in his best detective.

Blair snorted. "Which is it, Simon? We can't both be right. Pick a side, man."

Simon glared. "No, Sandburg. I don't want to pick a side. It could go either way. But I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt until he proves me wrong. Ah-ah-ah-" He held up a hand to forestall Sandburg's protests. "He's insisting, Blair. You know what that's like." Blair snorted again. Jim made a mental note to tell him, for his own sake, of course, just how unattractive that was. "Besides, I don't have the manpower to keep him off the streets for four weeks. If I did, it wouldn't matter how much he insisted." Shit. Jim was beginning to suspect that his usual policy of not listening in on conversations about himself was a good one. Well, fuck 'em both.

"You keep an eye on him," Sandburg said with what Jim considered an unbecoming air of self-importance. "You or Megan let me know if anything weird happens, Simon. I mean _anything_." Blair was up again, looking at his watch with something approaching alarm.

"Jesus, Sandburg," said Simon. "Your first day at the Academy, and you're already late?"

Ha, Jim thought again. Serves him right.

"Relax, Simon, I don't have far to go. Class today is here in this building. Orientation and stuff." Jim quickly pulled his focus out of Simon's office as he realized Blair was getting ready to leave. He schooled his face into a neutral expression as his partner headed his way.

"Nice try, Jim, but no cigar. You are so obvious, man. You might as well have a zoom lens on your head." As he marched towards the elevator, Blair turned to look at Jim, concern in his eyes, a wistful expression on his face. Jim felt his sense of ill-usage fade and he gave Blair a crooked smile. He couldn't stay mad when he saw that face.

"Go to class, Chief. It'll be fine."

Blair smiled back, but he looked stern. "It had better be."

Jim watched the elevator swallow his partner up, then turned his attention back to the bullpen with reluctance. Simon stood at his office door, waiting, it seemed, for Jim to get his mind out of the elevator and back to his job. When Jim met his eyes, Simon shook his head ruefully. "Get in here, Ellison."

Jim accepted a cup of coffee from Simon, and sat down in the chair Sandburg had so recently vacated. The wooden seat still held some residual warmth from his partner's body, and it seeped into Jim, making his ass tingle, warming him all over.

"Big day, huh, Jim?" Simon and Blair may have been acting like Jim was a somewhat dim schoolboy earlier, but now Jim could hear the almost paternal pride in Simon's voice as he considered Sandburg's "first day of school."

"Yeah, Simon, I bought him a shiny new lunch box for the occasion," Jim said dryly.

Simon looked at him sharply, his eyes narrowed as he considered Jim's mood. Then a look of comprehension dawned on his face and he looked away, like he had been caught staring at a pretty woman's legs for too long. "You were listening in, huh? I thought you didn't do that sort of thing, Jim," he said with righteous, if somewhat spurious, indignation.

"The best defense is a good offense, right, sir?" Simon had the grace to blush, which Jim could see, even if non-Sentinel vision couldn't. "I usually don't, Simon, you know that. But Sandburg and I _had_ that conversation this morning already, _and_ last night, _and_... I knew he'd come running to you." The little traitor, Jim thought again.

"Jim, I don't have any idea what's the best way to go here. I just know I can't afford to have my best detective gone for four weeks." Simon frowned. "But I have to be able to trust you. I need to know that you're going to tell someone if things get...weird."

"Jesus, Simon," Jim sighed. "I'll try, okay?" He stared out the window a minute. Then, in a voice devoid of inflection, he said, "I also told Sandburg to play nice with the other kids at school." He waited to see if Simon got it.

He did. "You expecting problems, Jim?"

"I don't know, Simon. If the other cadets find out he's on the fast track to detective, there may be some resentment. Especially if they think that damn press conference says anything about his character. There's plenty of reasons for trouble, but you know he can charm his way out of some of the worst situations." He shrugged. "I just don't think he should have to."

And Jim was completely prepared to make sure Blair _didn't_ have to.

"I'll keep an ear out." Simon shook his head. "How did I get in the middle, here, Jim? Looking out for you, looking out for him. Do I look like a damn babysitter to you?"

Jim chuckled appreciatively, but before he could say anything, the phone rang. Simon frowned at it, then answered it. "Right. Right. Okay. Will do. Got it." He hung up and looked at Jim. "Another carjacking. This time somebody got hurt." Simon's face was grim. "There was a dog in the car, and the driver tried to stop them. They shoved her down, she has a few bruises, and a broken wrist." He paused, then resumed the story, cold anger in his eyes. "They tossed the dog out of the car a block down from where they stole it." Another pause. "It was a Chihuahua named Bozo. He didn't make it." Simon's face tightened. "Bastards. I want 'em, Jim. You understand me?"

"Yes, sir. Understood, sir." He rose to his feet and headed towards the door, after depositing his empty coffee cup on Simon's desk.

"Jim, take Conner with you if you go anywhere." He glared at Jim through his glasses as Jim started to object. "Do you think I want to answer to Sandburg if something happens to you? No, no, let it be on Conner's head."

Jim smirked as he exited the office. "Think she can handle him if something happens, sir?"

He pretended he didn't hear Simon's reply. "The question is, can she handle you without knocking you on the head and just _stashing_ you someplace for four weeks till we get your _official_ handler back?" Simon's snort wasn't any more attractive than Sandburg's.

*

Jim looked at the woman who sat facing him across his desk. Cora Zebrowski was tall and thin, in her late 50's, with a shiny red nose and a quivering chin. She had a cast on her left arm. Maybe she looked better when she hadn't cried off all her make-up, Jim thought charitably. He felt an unexpected rush of rage when he looked at the wallet-sized photo of Bozo. Bright eyes looked out at the camera with curiosity and big ears stood up with mischievous intent. How could anyone hurt a dog that looked like that? It would have to be an asshole of major proportions. Jim focused his attention back on Ms. Zebrowski. "Can you just go through it one more time, please? I'm very sorry about your dog."

Fresh tears threatened, but Ms. Zebrowski proved to be of sterner stuff than that, and she didn't succumb. Her short grey curls bobbed with the effort. "I was stopped at the light at 5th and Canal Street. I was the first car at the light. There was only one car behind me, and I think it was green, or maybe blue. Anyway, this man came up to the passenger side of the car, and he started to pound on the window. He scared me, and I just stared at him. I wondered if he needed help or something, and then another man came up to the car on my side and jerked open the door."

Jim interrupted the flow. "Did you see where either of the men came from? Did they come from the car behind you?"

"I don't think so, but I can't really say for sure. They were just there, you know? Anyway, after the second man pulled my door open, I started to yell. I said, 'What in the hell do you think you're doing?' or something like that, and he said, 'Shut up, lady, and get the fuck out of the car!'" Ms. Zebrowski blushed at the obscenity. "He grabbed my arm and just _yanked_ me out of the car. I'm lucky I didn't fall, I almost did, you know. He unlocked the other door, and the first man got in. The light was still green and I thought I had some time before they took off. I didn't think they'd go to all the trouble of stealing a car, and then run a red light and get themselves killed. Although I wish they had," she added darkly.

Jim offered her the box of Kleenex again, and she took one. She blew her nose and added the soggy wet tissue to the growing pile on Jim's desk. Where the fuck was his trash can? He could practically see the germs, the bacteria, the viruses-- _no_ , no he _couldn't_. Jesus, get a grip. It took an electron microscope to see a virus, Sentinel vision alone wasn't going to cut it. Still, what was that tiny green speck-

"Detective?" Ms. Zebrowski touched his arm hesitantly. "Detective? Are you all right?"

"What? Oh, right, yes, sorry ma'am. Just thinking." Shit, had he been about to zone on something he couldn't even see? That was a new one. Sandburg'd get a kick out of _that_ one. He'd probably shake his head and chuckle. And then never let Jim out of his sight again. Jim sighed. He could only wish. "Go on, Ms. Zebowski."

"Cora. Anyway, I grabbed at the man behind the wheel, I got a hold of his jacket, and I screamed at him, 'Please, give me Bozo, let me have my dog!' He--he shoved me away, and that time I _did_ fall. Luckily, I fell away from the car, because that's when the light turned green, and they just took off down the street. They made the tires squeal. The car behind them, I don't remember if it was green or blue, took off, too." Ms. Zebowski paused for breath, a sip of water, and to add another used tissue to the pile. Jim averted his eyes with determination. He was not going there again.

"Before we get to what happened next, Ms.--Cora, can you describe these two men for me?" Jim picked up his coffee cup, realized it was empty, and put it back down again.

"The first man, the one who pounded on the window, was tall, maybe six feet, maybe more. He was white, but that's about all I could see. He had jeans and a dark jacket on, and was wearing a cap with the Jags' logo on it." Cora twinkled for a moment, and Jim thought it took 10 years off her age. "I'm a big fan-I have season tickets, you know. All those tall handsome men, running around in shorts." Then her eyes lost their sparkle and her lips tightened. "Anyway, I couldn't really see much of his face. The second man, the one that pulled me out of the car, was shorter and heavier. He had on a wool hat, pulled way down over his forehead. I saw part of his face, though. He was white, with a small beard, just on his chin, and his eyes were dark. His nose was ugly," she added as an afterthought.

"Cora, I already know what happened next, you don't have to go over it again," Jim said. He didn't exactly want to hear this part of the story himself.

"That's all right, Detective Ellison. Maybe I'll remember something else, some new detail, if I go over it again. That's why you have people tell things again and again, isn't it?" She asked shrewdly.

"Yes, ma'am. But just take your time." And take it easy on the Kleenex, he thought.

They sat in silence awhile, Jim content to wait for Cora to steel herself for the ordeal of describing how her dog was brutally and callously killed in front of her. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, "It was before they got to the end of the block. The light was yellow and they sped up. Then all of a sudden, I saw them throw something out of the window on the passenger side. It landed on the sidewalk. I started to run, I was screaming, I knew, I just knew what it was. There were a few people around him by the time I got there. He--he wasn't moving. His head was twisted around, in a funny kind of way. I--" Cora bit her lip as tears rolled down her cheeks unheeded. "My little boy. My poor little boy."

Jim's throat tightened as he watched Ms. Zebrowski struggle with her emotions. A tender smile softened her lips as she turned to Jim and asked, "Do you have a dog, Detective?"

"No, ma'am. I don't." Jim cleared his throat.

"He was a treasure, Mr. Ellison. A treasure," Cora whispered. She gathered her purse and coat to her and stood up. "I'm more sorry than I can say that I didn't get any license numbers, Detective. _Very_ sorry. Anyway." She held out her hand. "Thank you. I know you'll do your best."

"Yes, ma'am, we will." Jim took her hand, and gave it a gentle squeeze. "I'll be in touch."

Cora Zebrowski nodded, then turned and walked towards the elevator. The doors slid open and Sandburg popped out, then turned and held the elevator open. Cora gave him a watery smile of thanks, and he grinned back at her. Jim shook his head. Jesus, Sandburg, she's old enough to be your grandmother. The flirting was automatic, but that didn't mean Jim had to like it.

"Hey, Jim. What's up?" Blair bopped around the corner and plopped down in his usual chair. "Wanna buy me lunch? This is practically our only day here, most of the rest of this gets done out at the actual Academy, so now's your big chance."

"Sure, Chief. How much time do you have?" Jim's eye caught the pile of used tissues on his desk as he spoke. He grimaced and looked around for a trash can. What the hell had Housekeeping done with his when they cleaned last night? He spotted one over by Brown's desk, and stood up.

"One hour, then we have to be back upstairs for more orientation and scheduling. Simon thinks there's some stuff I can get out of. I have to talk to my advisor--" Sandburg broke off for a minute, then shook his head. "I guess they're not called that here, are they? Gotta learn the terminology. New jargon." He glanced at Jim's face. "It'll be fun," he said firmly. _"What are you doing?"_

Jim was back at his desk with Brown's trash can, trying to get the used tissues into it without touching them. He was sort of blowing on them, hoping to move them in the direction of the trash can, but then he thought about all the bacteria and viruses he was blowing all over his desk, and into the air, and he blanched. He could see them, he could, and—

"For crying out loud, Jim, here," Sandburg said impatiently, and he took a handful of Kleenex from the box. He scooped the dirty ones up with the clean ones and dropped the whole wad into the trash can. "Okay now? What's _with_ you, anyway?"

Jim took Brown's trash can back over to the other man's desk, relieved to have the whole mess away from _his_ desk. Then he had to laugh at himself. It suddenly seemed ludicrous to be obsessing over invisible green specks, and he said as much to Sandburg. "I was just seeing viruses, Chief. No big deal."

But Blair wasn't laughing. "Did you really see them, Jim? What did they-"

"No, I didn't really see them, Sandburg," Jim snapped with sudden irritation. But he had, he thought. Hadn't he?

"Jim--"

"Come on, Sandburg. You want lunch or not?"

"Okay, okay, let's go." Blair continued to look at him out of the corner of his eye, little slanting looks like he expected Jim to start swatting at flying elephants any minute now.

"Knock it off, Sandburg," he growled as they exited the elevator. "I want a hot dog."

They made their way towards the vendor on the corner, arguing over the merits of sauerkraut, or onions, or both. "I don't like what it does to the breathable air in the bathroom when you eat sauerkraut, Chief."

"Ha, ha, funny man. You're not such a rose yourself, you know."

"Yeah, but you've got the advantage, Chief. Your nose doesn't work as well as mine does." By this time they had their dogs, and were sitting on a bench down the street from the station, munching away companionably. "So, Chief, you have a good morning?" Jim inquired with seeming innocence. It would never do for his partner to think that Jim was worried about how he was going to get along at the Academy.

"Oh, yeah, it was great. I mean, we pretty much just got our schedules and stuff, and found out who our teachers are, there's a couple of them that I already know, that I've met here, you know, before. Tomorrow, we start classes at the main Academy campus, but sometimes we'll be hanging out around here. There're a few classes that I don't have to take, that Simon got me out of, but most of it looks pretty interesting, Jim." He paused for breath, and to take an enormous bite of his hot dog. "The firearms training starts next week. I think that might be fun, too, man," he managed to pronounce around his lunch.

Fun? What was with all this fun shit? The police Academy wasn't supposed to be fun, for God's sake. What in the hell was wrong with Sandburg?

Blair elbowed Jim in the ribs, just as he swallowed, almost making him aspirate both sauerkraut and onions. He glared at Blair, who smiled winningly and said, "C'mon, Jim. Lighten up." He waggled his eyebrows as he spoke.

Jim maintained his glare and said, "You'd better eat up, Sandburg. You don't want to be late going back." And he thought to himself that it was good to see Blair smile, and that maybe Blair should have all the fun at the Academy that he wanted to.

*

When he got back from lunch, Jim rounded up Conner and they set off to talk to several of the bystanders who had given their names to the officers at the scene of Cora Zebrowski's carjacking. Jim was suspicious of the car- blue, green, or whatever the hell color it was- that had been behind Cora's car at the traffic light, and he hoped someone had gotten at least a partial plate. But no one had really noticed what had gone on before Bozo was thrown from the car, and certainly nobody had gotten any license plate numbers. They were all extremely indignant about the poor dead dog, and equally vehement in their desire for Jim and Megan to "catch the bastards that did this."

Gaining nothing but a headache from these interviews, Jim decided to check out the crime scene next.

He and Conner parked across the street from where Cora Zebrowski's car had been taken. Conner got out first, and Jim followed her over to the sidewalk. Looking around, he focused his vision on the street. _Nothing_ caught his eye. Absolutely nothing.

"Jim, what do you make of this?" Conner motioned him over to where she stood, holding something small and shiny in the palm of her hand. It was a button, a silver disc surrounded by dark green plastic, with an anchor embossed in the center. "I found it in the street, just right there in the middle of the road. Didn't Ms. Zebrowski mention a jacket?"

Jim closed his eyes. Sweet Jesus, now _Conner_ was finding things that he should have seen at first glance. What in the fuck was going on here? "Yeah, Conner, she said she pulled on the perp's jacket, the guy behind the wheel, when she tried to get them to give her back her dog." He added grudgingly, "Good work spotting that."

"You would have if I didn't, Jim," Conner said, cheerfully ignoring his sulky demeanor. "Let's get this to Forensics."

*

That night, Blair bubbled over with talk of his first day at the Academy, quick character sketches of some of his instructors and fellow students. It was only the first day, but he seemed to be taking to it like a duck to water, which both relieved and irritated Jim at the same time. He felt miserable about their prolonged and enforced separation, and he wanted Blair to be equally miserable. But instead Sandburg was bouncing around the kitchen, regaling Jim with a description of a new cadet that had him longing to show up at a self-defense class one day in the near future to see if this paragon of apparent strength and conditioning was really all that Blair had cracked him up to be. As Blair waxed rhapsodic over Cadet Howard's muscled frame, Jim chopped vegetables and wished it was him that Blair was drooling over, figuratively speaking, of course. He didn't want drool in the food, what with bacteria and viruses, and oh, shit, the next thing he knew he'd be developing some sort of obsessive compulsive disorder, seeing germs everywhere, inventing elaborate hand-washing rituals involving two kinds of soap and a specific number of towels. My God, he was truly losing his mind.

To get his thoughts off his impending OCD, he started wondering for the hundredth time how he had missed that button sitting right there in the middle of the street. Maybe Conner was just lucky to have found it first, maybe if he'd had another minute, he would have spotted it himself with no problem. Maybe.

"So, Jim, how did your afternoon go?" Blair was finally winding down.

"It was fine, Sandburg."

"Any thing I should know about? Any problem with the senses? Besides the viruses?"

Jim pondered the question. It all seemed pretty minor, if he could manage to keep it in perspective. On the other hand, he shuddered when he thought about the things that tended to happen when he didn't share with Sandburg. "Just a couple of things. Minor ones, really."

Blair looked at him severely. "Spill it, Jimbo."

Jim winced at both his tone and the nickname. Jimbo? What the hell was up with that? Blair never used nicknames, and it sounded odd as hell. "It's just that Conner found a button at the crime scene, and I didn't even see it until she picked it up. I missed it completely." He thought back to the morning with Cora Zebrowski. "And those viruses were pretty creepy."

"Is that it?"

"Yeah, Sandburg, I guess that's it"

"Hmm," Blair said. Like he was really thinking it all over. "My guess is that you were just distracted by having a different partner, you felt different without me there, and your perceptions were a little off. It should get better as you get used to it."

He didn't want to get used to it. He wanted Blair back, now. He sighed. He was a grown man, and he could be patient. "Okay, if you say so."

"I really think that's all it is, Jim. Just pay attention to what you're doing, concentrate, and let me know if anything else seems weird. Okay, man?"

Jim nodded. "Dinner will be ready in a few, Chief. Go wash up." Great, now he was worrying about Sandburg washing his hands.

"Okay, Mom." As Blair headed toward the bathroom, Jim heard him snort. Damn, he had forgotten to tell him how unattractive that was.

*

The next morning, after finishing up the paperwork on the Cora Zebrowski interview, Jim set off for Forensics, only to find Conner already there. He should have known. "Hi, Jim," Serena greeted him. "I haven't had enough time to trace the manufacturer of the button yet. Give me until tomorrow, maybe I'll have something for you then."

"Okay, that works for me." He turned to Megan. "Come on, Conner. I want to see what the sketch artist came up with."

"Too bad Ms. Zebrowski didn't see anything she liked in the mug shots. That certainly would speed things up," Megan said.

Jim nodded as they walked back to the bullpen together. "Yeah, I know."

The composite drawings that the sketch artist produced for Jim and Megan were, well, sketch. The first one was completely nondescript, and the second one showed basically a hat and a beard. "Shit. These guys could be anybody." He shook his head in disgust.

"Let's show these new composites to the other victims. Maybe there's something they can add." Megan's voice was patient.

They stopped walking as they got to Jim's desk. "Call 'em all in. They can sit with the artist and add what they can."

"Megan nodded. "Right, mate. Will do."

Jim wasn't listening. He was smelling. He raised his head and sniffed delicately at the air. "Do you smell that?" What was that stench? Rotten eggs? Gasoline? Dog shit? Spilled perfume? He couldn't quite pinpoint it, it was too elusive for that. It seemed to be coming from the break room, or maybe from Simon's office, or the elevator, he wasn't sure. He closed his eyes and concentrated. He realized that he was smelling the pack of gum in his top desk drawer. He pulled it out, studying it carefully. Just gum. He shook his head, and then unwrapped a piece. He touched it carefully with his tongue and gagged. The peppermint practically burned the taste buds off of his tongue. What the hell was going on here? Great, another incident to report to Sandburg. If this shit kept up, Sandburg would have Simon lock him up at the station. Four weeks of paperwork, four weeks of feeling like an idiot. Maybe he should take a four-week vacation, go fishing or camping or something. Maybe go to Cancun. Nah, that wouldn't be any fun without Blair. He envisioned warm nights, warmer bodies. He sighed and tried the gum again. Completely normal this time. Damn.

"Ellison! Conner! My office." Simon stood at his door, looking grim. Jim headed in, but Conner was still on the phone. Simon poured coffee while they waited. When Conner came in, Simon smiled sweetly and said, "Nice of you to join us, Inspector."

Megan looked as if she might take offense at this, but Jim shook his head at her. "There's been another one."

"And how the hell do you know that, Jim?" Simon demanded.

Jim was startled by the question. How the hell did he know that? "I heard you on the phone, Simon. At least I think I did. I guess I did. I must have, sir. Didn't I?"

"Great, Jim, that's just great. Now you're listening in on my phone conversations? Don't you have enough work to do?" Simon put his coffee cup down with a bang.

"I didn't know I was listening, sir. I was having some problems with my gum, and..." Jim trailed off as Simon and Megan stared at him. He felt his face grow warm.

"With your gun?"

"No, sir, with my gum," Jim mumbled.

Simon looked closely at him. "Do I need to call Sandburg, Jim?"

"No, sir." Jim's head shot up. "It's under control."

"It had damn well better be, Ellison. Now listen up, you two. Jim's right, there's been another carjacking. No one was hurt this time, but the victim is coming in to make a statement." He looked at Jim again. "You sure you're all right?"

"Yes, sir. 100%." Jim could feel Simon's glare.

"Conner, make sure that he is."

"No worries, Captain," Conner replied cheekily as they retreated from the office.

*

"Don't start, Conner," Jim warned as soon as they were out of earshot. "I'm fine, I don't need a keeper."

"I know that, mate." Megan put a hand on his arm. "I'm here if you need me."

"Oh." That took the wind right out of his sails. "Well, okay then."

"But I also don't want to be the one that has to answer to Sandy if something happens. So I'm holding you responsible." The warning in her voice was clear. "Now, let's go talk to our most recent customer."

As they got on the elevator, Jim's cell phone rang. "Ellison."

"Hey, Detective, how you doing?" Jim jerked the phone away from his ear. Shit, why was this guy yelling? He looked at Conner and asked, "Can you hear that?"

"Sure, Jim," she retorted.

Gingerly, he moved the phone closer again and said, "Who the hell is this?"

"This's Sneaks, that's who the hell this is." His voice sounded absolutely normal now. "I know some things. You wanna know 'em too?"

"Know things about what?"

"About what you want to know, of course."

"Where should I meet you? It's too early for lunch."

"So you'll buy me brunch. The diner in a half hour."

As Jim disconnected, he tried to think if he had time to go raid Sandburg's closet before meeting his informant. He sure as hell had neither the time nor inclination to go shopping. Sneaks would just have to settle for money this time.

He turned to Conner. "You go ahead, I need to meet someone."

"Yeah, right," she snorted with derision. What was it with these people and all the snorting? "Like I'm going to let you go off on your own anytime soon. I'm right with you, Jim. Like glue."

Jim sighed. Too bad Conner wasn't wearing sneakers. Her feet were big enough.

"Why are you staring at my feet?" Conner eyed him warily.

"No reason," Jim said. "If you're coming, let's go."

*

Jim and Megan got to the diner before Sneaks did. Megan stared as Jim ate two big, sticky donuts while they waited. It was a ten minute wait, after all, and Jim didn't know why she was looking at him like that. The donuts tasted better than anything he had ever eaten in his life. They were so sweet, the sugar melting on his tongue, the warm, yeasty flavor, the cakey texture, the hint of buttermilk.... "Jim, if you're doing that zoning thing, I'm going to tell Sandburg on you for sure," Conner said tartly.

"I'm just eating, Conner. No worries," he mocked. In fact, he had been concentrating a little bit too much on those donuts. But it wouldn't do to tell Conner that. He looked up in time to see Sneaks come in and glance around the diner. Before he could wave him over, Sneaks' face lit up.

"Hey, Detective. Long time no see. How the hell are you?" He headed towards Jim and Megan's table.

"Sneaks, hey, have a seat, buddy." Jim scooted his chair over to make room. He shoved a donut in front of his rowdy informant, "Hey, Sneaks, you wanna tone it down a little? There's a lady present."

Megan stared at Jim in offended amazement. "Excuse me?"

"You wanna introduce me, Detective?" Sneaks asked.

"Sneaks, this is Inspector Connor. She's working with me for a while." Sneaks didn't appear to be listening. In fact, his head was under the table, studying Megan's feet. He straightened up with a frown. He shook his head. "I don't like it, Detective. I don't see nothin' innerestin' there. Where's your buddy Sandburg?" Sneaks looked pleasantly reminiscent.

Conner tucked her feet under her chair, out of sight. She looked askance at Sneaks, then at Jim. "Okay, boys, what's this all about?"

"Don't worry about it, Conner." Jim turned to Sneaks again. "Come on, Sneaks. Spill."

Sneaks looked around and lowered his voice so that he could only be heard by half of the people in the diner, instead of all of them. "There's a chop shop been doing extra good business lately. I heard tell they're filling orders for parts right and left. Had a big order the other day, needed both front and rear fenders for a '99 red Jeep Cherokee. Heard they filled it with no problems."

"You got an address?" Cora Zebrowski drove a red '99 Jeep Cherokee.

"Closed -down auto repair shop on Winslow Avenue. You can't miss it." Sneaks shoved the rest of Jim's donut in his mouth.

"How many guys?" Conner was practically on her feet already, but Jim waved at her to sit. She did, radiating impatience.

"I'm not sure, but the one is a real asshole. Watch your back, Detective."

"Sorry there's no bonus this time, Sneaks." Jim let Sneaks root around in his wallet until he found what he wanted.

"Next time, Detective." Sneaks stood up and nodded at Conner. "Good meetin' ya, Inspector."

"You too, Mr, uh, Sneaks." Conner nodded and they all got up to leave together.

*

Jim and Megan spent the afternoon planning a visit to the auto repair shop on Winslow Avenue. Simon was coordinating their efforts with SWAT, which Jim wasn't certain was really necessary. On the other hand, he sure as hell didn't want to take a chance on not successfully bringing in someone that would throw a dog out of a moving vehicle.

The other four victims of the carjackers had been with the police artist to finalize their ideas of what these guys looked like. But in almost all of the cases, events happened so fast that the victims were left with only brief impressions. It appeared to be the same two perps every time, though, Jim was almost positive about that.

Jim looked at his watch. Almost five o'clock. He might as well go home, he could start dinner while he contemplated just exactly how to tell Sandburg about the difficulties he had this morning with his gum. He guessed he should be grateful that was the only weird thing that happened. Well, that and being able to hear Simon's phone conversation without consciously listening in. The donuts didn't count, that happened on a pretty regular basis, actually.

*

Blair blew in the front door just as Jim was setting the table. "Hey, Jim. Wait 'til you hear this." And Sandburg was off and running, his volubility exceeded only by his animation.

"And then Jenkins says, 'Way to go, you asshole.' Cool, huh?" Jim realized that Sandburg was winding down, and that he had no idea what the hell he had been talking about.

"Yeah, Chief. Cool." He put the silverware next to their plates and wondered why his head was starting to hurt.

"Jim, are you all right?" Sandburg was instantly solicitous. "What's wrong? Did something happen today that you need to tell me about?"

"There was a problem with some gum," Jim said, keeping his eyes fixed on the spoons.

"Uh, huh. Gum. You wanna tell me about it, Jimbo?"

Again with the Jimbo. The Police Academy seemed to be having a somewhat unexpected affect on Sandburg, and Jim wasn't sure he liked it. He had anticipated some problems with the other cadets. Maybe a lack of acceptance, some resentment, a little harassment. He thought maybe he would have to ride to Sandburg's rescue, let people know that Blair had friends and supporters in the department, and not just in Major Crime, and that no funny business would be tolerated. He had been afraid that some of the faculty might have it in for the long-haired non-cop who had been the cause of unwanted publicity for one of their brothers-in-blue. He had not expected Sandburg to be having the time of his life, coming home bouncy and full of energy, teeming with tales of his teachers and fellow classmates like he was at summer camp. And just why did this bother Jim, if in fact it did? Did he want to have to ride to Sandburg's rescue? Well, shit, he needed Blair, didn't he want Blair to need him as well? That was pretty fucked up. Was he really that much of an insecure jerk? That was always a possibility. Ah, well, it was early days yet. Jim was not about to relax his vigilance, he would keep an ear out for trouble, and try to ignore the rest.

"Yo, Jim! The gum?"

"Oh, uh, right, Chief." Jim shook off his disquieting thoughts. "There was some gum in my desk and I had a piece and it tasted really strong and burned my tongue and then it was fine. End of story."

Blair studied him. Then he sighed. "Spill the rest of it. And don't even think about obfuscating here, man," he commanded.

Jim turned hurt eyes to Sandburg's face. "I don't know what you mean, Blair."

Sandburg stared at him, and then started to giggle. "You so can't pull that off, Jim, don't ever try that, okay? Word of advice, man."

Blair didn't often giggle, but when he did, Jim found it almost irresistible. He smiled. "I smelled something, and I couldn't tell where it was coming from or what it was at first. It smelled like a lot of different things at once. Then I figured out it was the gum in my desk, so I tasted it. It was really strong at first, like it was hot. Then all of a sudden it was fine. Normal. That's all. Well, my hearing was a little unpredictable. Okay?"

"Okay." Blair frowned thoughtfully. "So far, none of these weird sensory incidents have happened during dangerous situations, so that's good. Are you thinking about anything specifically when this shit happens, can you pinpoint anything different that you're doing, anything at all?"

Jim thought back to Cora Zebrowski's dirty Kleenex, the button on the street that he didn't see, the gum he couldn't tell from dog shit. There was nothing. The only thing that distinguished those days from any other day is that Sandburg wasn't there. Oh, God, please don't let it be that, he thought. He'll be impossible to live with if he really and truly thinks I can't get through the day without him. Which it was beginning to appear that he couldn't. He looked over at Blair. "No, nothing, Chief. Nothing that ties them together in any way."

"Of course, you haven't really been in any dangerous situations since I've been gone, have you? That'll be the real test, or it would be if I let you go into any dangerous situations without me. It's not going to happen, though, so we should be okay," Blair mused.

"What the hell do you mean, it's not going to happen?" Jim was more than indignant, he was pissed. "You don't get to decide that, Sandburg. You haven't taken over Major Crime yet, you know. Last time I looked, Simon was still the Captain. Or are you on an accelerated track for that, too?" Oh, hell, that was a really shitty thing to say, and he had no idea why he had just said it.

He risked a glance at Sandburg. There was confusion on his face, hurt in his eyes. "What? I know that, Jim. I just meant...I guess I hoped we could keep you out of dangerous situations most of the time I'm gone. I thought we were gonna try, anyway."

"No, Sandburg, you and Simon decided you were gonna try. Nobody consulted me on this one. There's no reason for me to sit around at a desk for four weeks. I'm not stupid, and I was a cop a long time before you ever came along." Jim was angry and he didn't know why. He thought all those feelings were in the past.

"I'm not going to let you do this, Jim. Not this time." Blair shook his head with determination. "Jim, look at me. Do you want to get hurt? Do you want to risk your life unnecessarily? Why is this such a big deal here? No one is saying you're not capable. But if the whole point of this exercise is for me to be your partner, what's the big deal about admitting that you need me to be your partner?" His voice rose in exasperation and Jim winced. His anger disappeared as quickly as it had arisen.

"I don't know, Chief. I want you to be my partner, you know that. I guess it bothers me that I need you to be my partner."

"Oh, please." Blair's eyes rolled at that. "Haven't we gotten you past all that bullshit by now?"

Jim shot a glare in Sandburg's direction. "I'm trying, okay?" He tried to look apologetic. "I'm trying," he reiterated.

There was still some residual hurt in Blair's eyes, but he chuckled a little and said, "Okay." Then, "Jim? Do you think it's not fair? Me doing the Academy this way? Quicker, and knowing for sure there's a gold shield at the end of it?"

Great. Way to go, Ellison. "No, Chief. I think it's the only fair way to do it. I didn't mean that. What I said before. I know that just because you try and push me around doesn't mean you think you can push everyone else around."

This time when he looked at Blair's face, there was a grin. "Fuck you, Ellison."

"Okay," he agreed. "Sounds like a plan." Shit, had he said that out loud? If the look on Blair's face was anything to go by, yes, indeed, he certainly had. Right out loud. In fact, the words seemed to hang in the air, waiting for somebody to acknowledge them. Well, at least he had provided a nice distraction from the other really stupid thing he had said here. Quite a roll he was on. No telling what he'd come up with next. He closed his eyes.

"Uh, Jim? What exactly did you mean by that?" Blair's voice held a kind of shaky curiosity, a little bit worried, a little bit hopeful. At least Jim hoped it was hopefulness he detected there.

He kept his eyes closed. "What do you want me to mean?" Blair's heart rate jumped at that. That was one sensory experience Jim wasn't confused about. That was real, he was sure of it.

"I don't know. Well, yes I do, but..." Blair trailed off, sounding unsure of what he might mean.

Jesus, they could keep this up all night. One of them had to say what they meant sooner or later. "I'd really like to fuck you, Chief. Is that clear enough?" Oh God, what if he had read Blair wrong here? He waited for Blair to put him out of his misery, one way or another.

Silence. Then, "I thought you said I could fuck you."

Relief threatened to buckle his knees. Which wouldn't be such a bad idea if he'd been a little closer to where Sandburg was standing. As it was, they just looked at each other, slow smiles dawning, until they were both grinning like idiots. Idiots in love. Oh God.

"I think we could negotiate terms, don't you, Chief? I'm willing to be flexible."

"Just how flexible, Jim? Do you think you could get your legs--" he stopped talking because Jim's mouth was on his, the kiss searing and insistent that he shut up. Jim didn't want to hear him, he wanted to taste him, touch him. And with Blair right there with him, he could rely on his senses to tell him the truth, no funny business this time, no trying to guess if what was there was real. He knew what he was feeling was real, he knew he loved Blair beyond his senses.

Blair pulled away first. "It's about damn time, Ellison," he panted. "I thought I was going to have to wait another four years for you to finally say something."

"What about you, Sandburg? You're the one with something to say about everything, why the hell didn't you have something to say about this?" Jim nosed aside Blair's hair and licked his ear.

"Because I'm a chickenshit, that's why." Blair was divesting him of his shirt as he spoke. He kissed his way from one nipple to the other, his hands warm on Jim's back.

Jim caught his breath and said, "You're not afraid of anything, Sandburg, don't bullshit me. You're the bravest person I know." He pulled Blair's sweater up over his head, getting his hair caught momentarily, tugging harder to release the silky curls.

"I've never met anyone more full of shit than you are, Jim," Blair said breathlessly, his hands efficiently unzipping Jim's pants, shoving both pants and boxers ruthlessly down to his knees.

As Sandburg's hand closed on his erection, Jim popped the buttons on Blair's fly, reaching in and pulling out his cock. "Yeah right, Sandburg. You can sling the shit better than anyone in the world."

"You are such a pain in the ass, man, I don't know why I put up with you." Blair started to sink to his knees, kissing Jim's stomach, teasing his navel with his hot tongue. Jim grabbed his arms and pulled him upright.

"Because you love me. Get your ass upstairs, Sandburg. I think it's time to decide who fucks who here tonight." Jim kissed Blair without mercy, hot and wet, tongue pushing in, completely taking over his mouth.

"Like you don't love me? Please, you can't live without me," Blair said as he shoved Jim onto the table instead.

"Not even for one day, Chief. Not even for one day." Jim held Blair's face between his hands, looking into those expressive blue eyes, seeing so much love there. He raised his head and kissed him until neither one of them could breathe, then smiled. "I think there's a fork stuck in my ass. Can we please get off the table?"

"Quit complaining, Jim. Jesus, bitch, bitch, bitch." He then proceeded to lick Jim's cock from the base to the crown, several times, before swallowing it completely, then pulling back, sucking, tongue swirling around the head, flicking the tip as he let go. That shut Jim up, except for the groan that escaped as Blair looked down at him and grinned. "Don't move."

Jim shook his head. He wouldn't, probably couldn't. Blair swept most of the plates and silverware onto the floor and climbed up on the table to straddle Jim. He kissed Jim's eyes, sucked his earlobe into his mouth for a second, then brushed swift touches across Jim's jaw with his lips. He moved his hips, his cock rubbing against Jim's, the heat building. He kissed Jim, his tongue gently exploring, then not so gently. This was the most uncomfortable place Jim had ever made love, and it was wonderful, it was perfect. He thrust his hips up, increasing the friction between them, and all too quickly, they were both coming, gasping each others' names. Blair buried his face in Jim's neck and said again, "It's about damn time."

After awhile, when Jim could speak again, he said, "I wasn't kidding about the fork, Chief. Let me up."

Blair laughed and slid off of Jim and onto his feet. He grabbed Jim's hand and pulled him upright. Then he was in his arms again, and Jim held on tight. Sandburg was right. It was past damn time. "Now can we go upstairs, Chief? I think we've still got some negotiations to work out."

"Dinner first. I'm starving."

Jim considered. "Okay. Dinner first. Then somebody gets to be dessert." Jim hoped it would be him.

*

"Shit!" What the hell was wrong with those goddamn idiots from SWAT? Any moron should have been able to tell where the carjackers were. They were holed-up in the building adjacent to their chop shop, of course. Why wouldn't they be? But no, a dozen officers, with SWAT emblazoned across their caps and jackets, big as life, were swarming around at the wrong end of the street.

And where the hell was Conner? She was supposed to meet him at the scene, having made a detour to go with Simon to consult with the head of the SWAT team. Jim didn't know which one of them would be in more trouble with Sandburg if he found out they had been separated, even if only for a short time. Hadn't everyone heard the sounds, the voices, coming from the pawnshop situated in the middle of the block of low-rise buildings, next to the auto repair shop? The proprietor of the pawnshop was cursing through his split lip and broken teeth, and the head carjacker, a major asshole if Jim had ever heard one, was telling him to shut up. Now. Was Jim the only one who could hear that? Surely the traffic on Winslow Avenue wasn't that loud. There were hardly any cars here this time of day. It wasn't a busy neighborhood, no trendy restaurants or expensive boutiques, no florists or jewelry stores. Just a pawn shop, a second-hand clothing store with dusty, flyblown windows, a dilapidated shoeshine stand, and the auto repair (yeah, right) business. A quiet, run-down area, almost dead, but definitely not a place where Jim wanted to end up dead.

He ducked behind a trash dumpster and dragged his cell phone out of his pocket.

If Sandburg were here, he'd know what Jim should be hearing, and what other people could and couldn't hear. Maybe the others couldn't hear what he could, but he just wasn't sure. He sighed, and hit the speed-dial for Simon's number.

"Simon! What the fuck is everybody doing at the wrong end of the street?"

"Jim! Where the hell are you? Why aren't you down here with the rest of the squad?"

"Because, Simon, the carjackers are down here, in the pawn shop. They're making enough noise to wake the dead. At least, I thought they were. They've got the guy who owns the pawnshop, and he is not happy. Get everyone down here, now. Sir."

"Shit."

"Yes, Sir." He disconnected, and focused his hearing back into the pawnshop. The asshole head carjacker was now telling the pawnshop owner that if he didn't shut the fuck up, immediately, he was a dead man. The pawnshop owner was telling the head carjacker that if he hit him again, he was the one that would be dead. So Jim guessed he hadn't missed anything new. Maybe they'd keep it up for as long as it took the SWAT team to move on down to the right end of the street.

"Fuck!" The bullet whizzed past Jim's ear whining like a ravenous mosquito deprived of its target. Another bullet slammed into the wall next to his head before he had time to react. He moved farther back behind the dumpster and drew his gun. Apparently all of the carjackers weren't as distracted by their little altercation with the pawn shop owner as he had hoped. He decided to wait until the rest of the SWAT team got their asses down here before he returned fire.

Out of the corner of his eye Jim saw movement, saw a tall, gangly man with a Jags cap on his head emerge from behind the shoe shine stand. He had a gun in his right hand, and was peering around the one car parked in front of the auto repair shop, obviously wondering where Jim had disappeared to. Maybe he wasn't sure he had really seen Jim, just thought he had. The gangly man looked furtively up and down the street. His eyes widened with dismay when he caught sight of the SWAT contingent on the move, and he quickly darted into the pawnshop.

Jim focused his hearing on the carjackers again. "Vern! Shit, Vern. The cops is here! There's a whole fuckin' bunch of 'em, comin' down the street. And there's someone right outside, I swear I saw someone! Shit, Vern!"

The pawn shop owner grunted with what sounded like satisfaction, while the head carjacker, probably Vern, swore again, long and loud, involving a great many motherfuckers and goddammits.

Suddenly Simon was behind him. "What do you hear, Jim?" Conner was there, too, glaring.

"Damn it, Simon, don't sneak up on me like that. I didn't hear you, that's for sure." Jim rubbed his forehead. This was all giving him a major headache. Not for the first time today, he wished Sandburg were here. "There's four of them, at least that's how many voices I can hear. One of them sounds like just the kind of asshole that would throw a dog out of a moving car. They've got the pawnshop owner, they've been roughing him up a bit, but I think he can hold his own. One of them was out here briefly, long enough to take a shot at me, then he saw you guys and ran back inside. They saw us coming, that's why they think they're hiding in the pawn shop, and are not pleased now that we're actually down at this end of the street." Jim tried to keep his voice neutral, but he could hear a trace of sarcasm. "And don't look at me like that, Conner. I didn't ditch you on purpose. I just heard the voices when I got here, knew they were down this way, and figured everybody else did, too."

"All right, Jim," Simon said. "So now what are we going to do about this?"

Jim looked at him. "Like I said, I think the pawn shop owner can take care of himself, at least if we keep the rest of them busy for awhile." He shrugged. "Tell 'em they're surrounded and let's go get 'em."

It didn't turn out to be quite that simple, but in the end, it was accomplished with a minimum of bloodshed. Jim was particularly pleased that most of that blood was shed by the fucker who had killed the dog. Jim had had to use some force getting the guy cuffed, and he really couldn't prevent the guy's nose from hitting the ground a time or two. Hell, it was already pretty fucking ugly, Cora Zebrowski was right. "That's for Bozo," Jim snarled. The guy looked alarmed at that, not having any idea who Bozo was. He seemed very relieved when Jim handed him over to the uniforms.

*

"So," Jim said that night to Blair, "Everything I sensed all day was accurate, even if I didn't think it was. I mean, I heard what I thought I heard, I just wasn't sure I heard it. Or what anybody else was hearing for sure either."

Blair shook his head sadly. "You're really losing it, Ellison. You used to be at the top of your game, now look at you. You can't even put two sentences together that make any sense." He sighed. "All washed up, and at such a young age, too. Oh, no, wait, scratch that part."

"Do you really think you're in any position to bandy insults around like that, Chief?"

"Bandy?" Blair gurgled with laughter. The sound of it vibrated through Jim's chest, what with Blair being spread out on top of him like he was. Then he stopped laughing. "You think you can distract me here? You think you're not in some seriously deep shit for going off on your own like that?"

"I didn't, Chief," Jim started to protest. "It's not my fault they couldn't keep up."

Blair moved suddenly and Jim found himself laying on top of his partner, their positions neatly reversed. Blair slapped his ass hard. "That is not an excuse. That is such bullshit, Jim."

"Ow!" Jim eyed Blair speculatively. "You gonna get all kinky on me here, Sandburg?"

"Ha! You wish. But I will seriously kick your ass if, anytime in the next four weeks, you put yourself in a dangerous situation again."

"Three and a half weeks. And my senses seem to have settled down, Chief. Really."

"Like one day is enough to go on," Blair snorted. "I told you, you just needed to concentrate." His voice softened. "I'm not saying you can't do anything at all for four weeks. But we need to take things on a day-by-day basis, and not rush into anything here." He kissed Jim softly. "Just don't do stuff by yourself, okay? Promise me?"

Jim looked down at the man he couldn't get through the day without. "I, James Ellison, promise you, Blair Sandburg, that I will watch my ass until such time as you are ready and able to watch it for me."

"And I, Blair Sandburg, promise to kick said ass, as much as I love it`" Blair said, rubbing the sting out of the spot he had smacked, "if you put so much as one hair on your head on, wait, scratch that, one toe on your foot in danger again, without me there with you."

They kissed again, for a long time, softly demanding and gently possessive. Then Jim said, "So, Sandburg, where did you learn that move? Cadet Howard?"

"You mean this one?" Blair inquired as he flipped Jim over again, now lying on top of him. "Self-defense class, where else?"

"Today was only your third day, Chief," Jim pointed out.

"You forget, Jim, I'm on the accelerated track," Blair snorted.

"Sandburg, can we talk about the snorting?" Jim asked.

"Sure thing, Jimbo. Anything you want."


End file.
